


Brothers

by lyricalsoul



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: ACD Canon, Greek Interpreter, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft advises Holmes in the ways of love. Mycroft's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my footloose and fancy-freeness with the canonical timeline. And for the strangeness of it all. Previously posted a few years back, but thought I'd share it here.

"Sherlock, have you lost your mind?"

He kicks at another of the crumpled notes littering the floor. "That should be obvious, even to such a sloth as yourself, brother-mine." 

"And now insults? What the devil has gotten into you? And..." I bend down to take up one of the crumpled papers. "...why are you writing a love missive to... oh, dear me. I feared this would happen eventually." 

"And you said nothing to me about it?"

"How was I to tell you what you obviously were not prepared to acknowledge? I surmised that the waters would get murky at best, if only because the good doctor's charms are innumerable." I take a seat in the armchair that was not made for a man my size, but since the settee is cluttered with papers and books, I seem to have no choice. "It was about the time I read the account of that dreadful business with the Red-Headed League that I realized you may have felt more than brotherly toward him." 

"Surely well before that," he says drolly. 

"I was endeavouring to appear as though it did not concern me." 

"Your endeavours failed, as I fully expected that you would surmise it at once." He sits at his desk and takes up the pen once more. "Is it terribly gauche to say that my heart has been 'ensnared'?" 

I throw my head back and laugh heartily. "Oh, quite." 

He tosses the pen aside, and for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, crumples the paper and throws it to the floor. "I expected your mockery, Mycroft, but I did at least expect you to be helpful also." 

"And just why did you expect that? I am no more familiar with the ways of... this, than you are, Sherlock." 

He slams a hand down on the desk in frustration. "Damn our parents for insisting that the softer emotions were mere trifles!" 

"Calm yourself, dear boy," I say as kindly as I can muster. He is grating on my nerves, and while I adore him, and treasure our familial bond above all, his restless energy and over-dramatisation of every trifle is wearying. "Have you deduced that he feels the same? If so, perhaps you should just tell the good doctor of your feelings." 

He turns that calculating grey gaze on me, and I regret having spoken. He has always had the uncanny knack of silencing one with a mere glance, even from a child. Of course, we in the family never let on that he frightens us so when he looks at us in such a manner, lest he become more arrogant. 

"Well, if you do not wish to tell him face to face," I continue, "then how ever will you deal with the repercussions that will most certainly come after giving him your missive of undying love and ensnared hearts?" 

"I shall send a note to mother, telling her that I was wrong to chide her when she confided that she always wished that you had been born a girl." 

"Cruel, Sherlock, and uncalled for. You called me here for my help. My help does not include being insulted." 

"You are being most unhelpful; hence, insults." 

I let out a sigh of exasperation. "Stop being an ass. Take up your pen, and write, then. 'Dearest John, you alone hold the key to my heart. It is my fervent hope that I do not offend you with my words. I love you as Jonathan loved David, and as Achilles loved Patroclus, and want you to forever remain by my side. I would that the warmth of your love melt my cold heart, that your strong embrace buffer me in my weakness. As I am unfamiliar in the ways of love, I would have you teach me. I dare not hope that you should return my feelings, but it would cause me no small bit of happiness were it so. Yours forever, Holmes.' That is what I would say were I in your shoes." 

"Indeed?" His eyes narrow, and I fear that I may have said too much.

"Well, not those words exactly, but I would convey the sentiment." This, I'm sure is only fueling the fire in his brain, so I move back to the topic at hand. "The ways of love are as strange to me as they are to you, but I am well-versed in classic romanticism."

He scribbles furiously for a short while, then finally holds up the paper in triumph. "Brilliant, Mycroft! No potential lover could ask for more tender words. I applaud your acumen and dedication to the problem." 

"Good. May I take my leave, then? There are other, more pressing matters that require my attention." 

"Philippe will make sure your share of oysters is set aside, Mycroft. You are, after all, the reigning champion." 

"Now who is mocking? The oyster races are a Diogenes tradition." 

"Handed down for all of one generation." He laughs, and leaps from the table, paper in hand. "How should I present it? Shall I hand it to him over dinner? Leave it in a conspicuous place for him to find? Read it aloud to him over our evening pipes? What do you think would be best?" 

For the millionth time, I wonder how our parents did not purposely drown him when he was an infant, or at least leave him on the doorstep of the local nunnery. He most certainly has all of the energy in the family, and has no qualms about haranguing a body until he gets what he wants, the spoiled cur. The memory of yet another nanny leaving our home in tears still haunts me. "You, the so-called Great Detective, cannot solve such a simple undertaking? I shall write a note to Inspector Lestrade post-haste and tell him so." 

Again, I am favoured with his icy glare. "I have never found you humorous, and I most certainly do not now." 

"Of course not," I return. "You are an ungrateful cuss, Sherlock. As you have always been." He continues to stare at me, until finally I give in with an upward turn of my eyes... as he knew I would, the ass. "Fine, then. Put a touch of that dreadful pomade you insist on mucking your hair up with on the corners of the paper, put it in an envelope, and place it on his pillow with a small sweet. He will be delighted at such a bedtime treasure, and it will definitely be taken as a token of your great affection for him." 

"That is… surely it is a bit much…?" He beings a nervous pacing in front of the fire. "Are you certain he will not… what if he… laughs?" 

"Trust me, dear boy. He will not laugh. If I am not mistaken, he will be overjoyed at such an overture." I heave myself from the confines of the small armchair, and take up my coat, hat and stick. "Do let me know how it turns out. And I will take the fee for my services in the usual manner." 

Whirling to face me, he gives me that quick flash of teeth that I have come to recognize as his version of a smile. "I am certain that if asked, he would enjoy assisting you in his native tongue, as it were. You should ask him, Mycroft. He seemed to enjoy your visits during his convalescence. How could he not return your affectionate regard?" 

"One would ask you the same," I snap back, and immediately regret being sharp with him. He really means no harm, as he does not know just how deeply my feelings run. "My dear brother, in this instance, it truly is Greek to me." I place my hat atop my head and take my leave.

***

The next evening, I receive a rather strange note from my brother. 'Mycroft,' it reads, 'of course you were right. The good doctor was rather taken with your suggested gesture, and was so overcome by the spirit of the event, that I am only now able to send my thanks for such a wonderful suggestion. Please accept my sincere apologies for my earlier treatment of you, and for the liberty I have taken by meddling in your affairs. Yours, Sherlock.' 

I frown at the note, pondering what possible liberty he could have taken. A tentative knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and I set the note aside. "Yes? Who's there?" 

"Mr. Holmes…?" 

With an intense feeling of dread, I go to the door. Upon opening it, I am surprised at my late night visitor. "Mr. Melas… what, ah… a surprise. Won't you come in?" 

"I thought nothing could surprise you," he says with a laugh, and steps inside. "I received a note from your brother, saying that you were having some difficulty mastering the Greek tongue. I am here to offer whatever assistance you should need." 

I blush and close the door hastily, lest someone hear and jump to the wrong conclusions. "Sherlock is… he can be rather meddlesome when the circumstances warrant it. Younger brothers are the scourge of the earth, really. In fact, just the other day, I was-" 

"Please," he cuts in. He smiles at me again, and I nearly melt at the tenderness I see in his eyes. "It is true then, that you…" He holds up a small envelope, and a tiny green morsel. "It is considered a romantic gesture to leave an olive on another's pillow." 

"I… well, that is to say, Sherlock seems to be fond of pranks, and it is his nature to try to cause me embarrassment at every turn. I shall talk-" 

"Mr… Mycroft," he interrupts again. "If it is merely a prank put forth by your brother, we shall speak no more of it." He edges closer to where I am leaning heavily against the door. "But… if you do indeed treasure me as Achilles did Patroclus… then, let us not hesitate to embark on your lessons in the Greek tongue." 

I shall throttle my insufferable brother when I next lay eyes on him! Of all the nerve, using my writings to bring me to such… I sigh helplessly at having been hoist by a petard not of my own making, but hoist nonetheless. It is, after all, what I have longed for since I laid eyes on the rather handsome Greek lodger, but still…

"There is nothing to fear, really," he assures me. "Greek is a very fascinating language. I am sure you will be an apt pupil, if you will allow me to teach you."

I doubt I shall ever receive such an invitation again, so I do the sensible thing. "Very well, then, Mr. Melas…" 

"Miklos," he corrects with another tender smile. "That is where our lesson shall begin." 

"Perfect." I give my meddlesome brother a mental doffing of my hat, and hope that he and the good doctor are having as good a time as I hope to. 

Fin


End file.
